I Now Pronounce You Holmes and Watson Part 2
by kazumigirl
Summary: Holmes and Watson return to Cleveland Street for a new case.
1. Chapter 1

**  
I Now Pronounce You Holmes and Watson Part 2**

**Author's note: **Hooray for sequels! I hope you all enjoy! As usual, please ignore my spelling and grammar mistakes the best you can and have fun.

"Are you still sulking?" Watson asked, walking into the room. It was dark and musty. Holmes sat on the floor-his back to the wall, his legs sprawled out before him. He stared into space as he plucked away at his violin.

"You'll get another case," the doctor sighed, staring down at him. "You always do."

When the detective said nothing, Watson knelt down and kissed him on the forehead, ruffling some of his messy hair.

"Three months, Watson," Holmes mumbled, plucking with each syllable as he spoke.

"I know," Watson replied, sliding down the length of the wall, sitting beside him.

Holmes leaned on his shoulder. "It's a cruel world, one without crime."

Watson snorted. "Most people would call that Utopia."

"No." Holmes shifted himself slightly, turning and craning his head to capture Watson's lips. He only managed to sloppily catch half of the doctor's mouth. Watson grinned as their lips briefly parted.

"Utopia would be a world without having to hide," Holmes said, nudging Watson's cheek with his head.

They stared at each other and were just about to kiss again when Mrs. Hudson called from halfway up the stairs, "Mr. Holmes? Dr. Watson?"

Watson stood up and moved to the door. He opened it. "Yes? Mrs. Hudson?" He discretely dusted dust and debris from the seat of his pants.

"There are some gentlemen here to see you," the landlady said. "I told them you'd just walked in and probably didn't want company, but they insisted."

Watson's brows furrowed slightly and he moved down the stairs. He smiled when he immediately recognized the visitors waiting in the parlor, one of them anyway. Edward. The other, a tall, broad man with a shy demeanor, stood hunched beside him.

"Hello!" Edward grinned, thrusting out his hand. "How are you, John?"

"Good." Watson shook his hand, and was taken by surprise when Edward leaned forward and gave him a one-armed embrace. "Very good, and you, Edward?" He eyed the other man. "Where's Jasper?"

"Oh!" Edward looked between them. "No, he's not..." he chuckled softly. "I'm still with Jasper. He's working right now."

"Ah." Watson nodded.

"This is Orson," Edward explained. "Our new tenant." He prodded Orson, who held out a squarish hand.

"Is Sherlock here?" Edward inquired, looking around.

"Yes." Watson headed for the stairs. "Follow me."

When they got to the door, Watson hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. "He's not...well, he's out of sorts."

" 'Out of sorts'?" Edward repeated.

"He goes into these depressions when he hasn't had work for some time."

Edward smiled. "Wonderful! That's why we paid you a visit!" He cleared his throat. "_And_ to see how you two are getting along...of course."

Watson opened the door. "Holmes? I have a surprise for you." He gestured for the other ment to step inside. He closed the door behind them.

Edward looked around, making a face. He cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. "What a delightful room," he lied polietly.

"Mmhmm." Watson rolled his eyes. He nudged the detective with his shoe. "Stand up."

Holmes stood up. Edward smiled at him. "Sherlock! How are you?"

The detective managed a half smile, sticking out his hand. Edward pushed it away, and pulled him into a hug. "You poor thing," he cooed.

"Mmm..." Holmes looked behind him at Watson who smiled and shrugged one shoulder.

Edward pushed the detective back to look at him. "We need your help once more." He looked at Watson. "We're in dire need of assistance."

"What's wrong?" The doctor asked.

Edward looked at Orson, who averted his gaze. "After moving in with us, he's been receiving threatening letters."

"Anynomous?" Watson quizzed.

"Tell them," Edward coaxed the larger man.

Orson finally spoke, staring down at the floor. "No, Sir," he muttered in a deep voice. "Says he knows me."

" _He?"_ Holmes repeated. "So it's a man."

"Do you know him?" Watson raised his eyebrows.

"I don't think so, no," Orson mumbled. "He says his name is Montgomery."

"That's it?" Watson asked. "No surname?"

"Could be a surname," Holmes replied, staring into space. He stared intently at Orson, but didn't say anything. Edward stared at him, confused, but Watson hardly paid attention. He knew exactly what Holmes was doing.

"He writes terrible things," Edward said, digging around in his pocket. "He even writes some of his letters in blood!" He retrieved a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Holmes.

Holmes scanned it quickly. "He delivers it to the house?"

"He must," Edward said, shrugging. He gave him another crumpled paper-an envelop. "We normally find them tacked to the front door."

"Is there a certain time you find them?" Holmes asked, handing it back to him. "A particular pattern?"

"Not usually," The other man said. "Sometimes we'll find them in the morning, sometimes at night, sometimes in the middle of the bloody day when we're all at home..."

"And you've never seen him?" Watson spoke as Edward handed him the letter.

"Jasper's tried," Edward said. "He waited outside all night and most of the day, but the letter arrived thirty minutes after he went inside!" He sighed. "And he threatens all of us-" he looked uneasily at Orson.

"You can tell them," the large man said quietly. "I don't mind."

"In most of his letters," Edward said slowly, his tone low. "He threatens us by name."

"You and Jasper both?" Holmes looked at him.

"And Wilfred," Edward told him. When Holmes and Watson's brows furrowed simultaneously, he quickly explained, "Our other renter."

"Ah." Watson nodded, and looked at Holmes. "What do you think?"

"We don't trust anyone us to help us," Edward said. "You must help us, Sherlock, John." He tugged on Orson's arm. "We all need you."

"How well did you know Orson and Wilfred before they moved in?" Holmes asked, cocking his head slightly.

Edward blinked, and then his eyes widened. "You don't suspect Orson!" He shook Orson's arm. "He's a sweet potato!"

"I never said anything of the sort," Holmes said carefully, shrugging. "I just asked how well you knew them."

"Well..." Edward released the other man's arm. "We're good friends now. That's what counts, right?" He looked at Watson for help. "Am I right?"

Orson only stared with a face like a basset hound and figure like an abused circus bear. Holmes and Watson exchanged glances and Watson said, "I guess we'll take the case."

"Mm." Holmes shrugged one shoulder, scratching his chest.

"How about you bring Jasper and Wilfred over tomorrow and we can-" Watson began, but Edward cut him off, shaking his head.

"No, no, nononono!" He said. "You have to come back to Cleveland Street! You need to actually be in the house! That's where the bloody death-threats are delivered." He fanned himself with one hand. "Besides, no offense to either of you, but this house...this _room_..." he made a face.

Holmes and Watson stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Edward winced, filling his cheeks with air and releasing it slowly. He finally looked at them. "It's a nice room..."

"It's an awful room," Orson muttered.

"Thank you, Orson." Edward smiled, embarrassed, patting his meaty arm.

* * *

After some mild arguing, Holmes and Watson reluctantly agreed to return to Cleveland Street. Edward watched them like a hawk as they packed, and wordlessly put various items in their suitcases and taking them out as well. He pretended to gag at some of their clothes, and tsked at Holmes' method of folding them neatly-which was really just stuffing them into the packs and then stepping on the tops as he fastened the it all together. Watson re-did it for him.

* * *

"We kept your old room," Edward said as they climbed out of the carriage. "Jasper insisted."

Orson stood by the door, waiting for the others to join him. Holmes insepected the small area around the door, even kneeling down and taking dirt on the pads of his fingers. He stood back up, smiling. "Shall we?" He nodded to the door.

Edward unlocked and opened it. "Jasper? Wilfred? Are you lovelies in?"

"Ooh, that sounds like Eddie!" Somebody called from the kitchen. "Just in time too! I'm making Turkish tea and fresh bread!"

"Grand!" Edward replied. "We have company, Wilfred."

Somebody emerged from the kitchen, and Edward stood between Holmes and Watson, beaming. He was another large man, though not as large as Orson, but certainly appeared to be more secure. He stood proudly, his jaw wide, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. He was bald, and not balding. His eyebrows were thick and dark, but his head shined.

"Well, hello," he boomed, wiping his hands on a simple apron that smocked him. "You must be the detective and doctor I've heard too much about." He laughed at his own joke. "Just yanking your chains, Gents!"

"Of course you are," Edward said, rolling his eyes playfully. "Jasper's not back yet?"

"Aren't you the catty wife," Wilfred snorted. "And no, Misses, he's not back yet."

"This is Sherlock Holmes." Edward pushed the detective in front of him.

"Hello, Sherlock!" Wilfred shook his hand with such force that the detective inhaled sharply. Watson tensed, but then relaxed, realizing nothing was truly wrong.

"And Dr. John Watson-" Edward gestured. "They're together."

"Of course they are!" Wilfred looked between them. "Just look at them! Did you see the way the doctor bristled when I shook Catarina's hand?" He roared again, and slapped Holmes on the seat of his pants. "All military men like them-small, helpless little buggers."

"Excuse me?" Watson didn't even try and hide his anger.

"Wilfred, please!" Edward blushed. "And you wonder why you repeatedly got kicked out of shared flats."

"I'm just telling the truth, Eddie," Wilfred said. "It's logical. Strong soldier types are attracted to helpless, needy types."

"I'm not helpless," Holmes said, sounding less convinced than he'd hoped. He rubbed his rear, which still stung a little.

"Of course your not," Edward said, patting his shoulder. He turned to Wilfred. "And for your dumb information, he's _helping_ us with the letter problem."

Wilfred scoffed. "Are you still going on about that? Eddie, I used to be in one of London's most dangerous underground groups. You don't _need_ help."

"Jasper's home," Orson suddenly spoke, barely above a whisper. He lumbered away and returned with Jasper, who was covered in dark smudges.

"You're a..." Watson shook his head a little.

"Factory worker," Jasper said. "Lost my previous position behind a desk." He smiled sarcastically. "One of my colleagues found out where I really lived and-" he hung up his hat and coat. " in his darling words, 'took pity on me'."

"Oh, Jas." Edward helped him remove the coat and pecked him on the lips. "My darling."

"He thought it'd be nicer to get me fired then get me locked up," Jasper told them. "How kind of him, right?"

"I'm terribly sorry," Watson said, clearing his throat. He suddenly wondered about his own career.

Wilfred clasped his hands of imaginary dust, grunting and sighing at the same time. "Come on then! Let's all have a cup of my famous Turkish tea!"

"I'm disgusting," Jasper said, gesturing to himself. "I'm not sitting down anywhere until I get cleaned up."

"Speaking of which," Edward said, moving closer to Holmes. He looked him up and down, staring at the detective like he was the most pitiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Holmes looked at him uneasily, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Edward patted his back, somewhat forecefully, and Holmes realized he was pushing him.

"Come on," Edward said. "We're going to get _you_ cleaned up."

"Me?" Holmes looked at Watson.

"You never looked like when you lived here," Jasper pointed out, wiping at his dirty face.

"We were in disguise," Holmes countered, planting his feet into the soft carpet. "I had to be well-manicured and spotless for the sake of science."

"Well do it again," Jasper said, moving towards the stairs. "You look like a shaggy old dog."

"Woof!" Wilfred laughed, slapping his knees. Watson frowned, deciding he didn't like this man, and mentally labeled him the prime suspect in the current case.

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Author's note:** *wipes sweat from brow* Woo! Chapter 2! Hope you enjoy it! Much love and appreciation for the wonderful feedback!

"I really don't understand how everybody's assistance is nece-SSARY!" Holmes said as he was shoved into the bathroom and spun around by Ethan, Jasper, and Orson. They tore at his clothes.

Watson and Wilfred remained in the parlor. Watson shifted awkwardly, pretending to be interested in the decor surrounding him. WIlfred began to whistle as he went about his business in the kitchen, and then hum, and finally began to sing. Watson could hear him chopping vegetables, and a delicious aroma traveled out of the room. It smelled warm and buttery and hot.

"So you and the lil' rabbit, eh, Doctor?" Wilfred called between tunes. "How long did that take?"

Watson rolled his eyes as he trudged into the kitchen. He stared at Wilfred, whose back was turned to him, busy at the stove. He chopped away at produce like he was cutting cold steel.

"Not sure," the doctor muttered. His eyes followed Wilfred's hands as they dumped the chopped potatoes, onions, and greens into a boiling pot.

"Isn't that the truth," Wilfred chuckled. "For everybody."

"Are you with Orson?" Watson quizzed, trying to sound like he was making simple conversation.

"No." The other man turned to him, wiping his hands on his apron. "Good friend, though, that Orson. He looks big on the outside, but inside, he's a pint-sized spit of a man." He stirred around in the pot with a large spoon. "I didn't even know him before I moved here."

Watson opened his mouth to say something else, but he was cut off by various voices coming from down the hall.

"Watson!" Holmes, naked and covered in soap, slid into the kitchen, gripping the frame of the walkway. "Help."

"Sherlock!" Edward followed suit, holding a large, squishy sponge in one hand, and a fancy looking container in the other. "You're tracking water and soap all over the floor."

"They're trying to kill me!" Holmes slipped a little more as he staggered towards Watson, gripping onto his shirt.

"We tried to tweeze his eyebrows," Edward explained, shrugging. "He didn't like it."

"Holmes..." Watson blushed, embarrassed _for _him. "Look at yourself."

"Just like I said." Wilfred grinned. "Hello, there, Sherlock! My, don't you smell lovely!"

"Alright." Jasper rolled his eyes. "We'll do away with the tweezers, but at least come back and let us rinse you off."

"And powder you!" Edward chirped. He lowered his eyes when Jasper stared at him. "Or not."

"Come with me," Holmes ordered Watson, staring up at him.

"You're an adult," Watson reminded him. "You shouldn't even have to have others bathe you."

"Um, yes he should," Edward said, wide-eyed. "You should have seen the dirt under his nails and behind his ears."

Holmes looked at Watson again, and the doctor sighed. "I'll...take over..." he said patting the detective's wet hair absent-mindedly.

-----

Back in the washroom, Holmes picked up a towel and began to dry himself. "They're beasts, Watson," he said.

"Well, in their defense," Watson replied, leaning against the far wall. "You _were_ filthy."

"I took a bath earlier this week," Holmes countered. "Tuesday."

"It's Friday." Watson made a face.

"Anyway-" Holmes cleared his throat. "About the case."

Watson waited. When Holmes said nothing, he pressed, "Well?"

"Well what?" Holmes frowned at him.

"About the case," Watson said, gesturing.

Holmes raised his eyes and pursed his lips. He glanced at Watson again. "What case?"

"The case you were just about to talk about!" Watson sputtered in disbelief. "The case that brought us here!"

"Oh." Holmes shook his head, water droplets flying in every direction. He stopped. "That."

Watson rolled his eyes. "Were you going anywhere with that statement?"

Holmes thoroughly looked confused. "I'm not sure." He tossed the towel to the side. "My clothes."

"What about them?" Watson shrugged.

"They're not here." Holmes looked around. "Watson, they stole my clothes."

"I rather like you this way." Watson dared to grin flirtatiously as he looked him up and down.

Holmes faked a sweet smile and then gave him a disgusted look. Watson laughed and removed himself from the wall. "I'll go see about your clothes." He headed for the door and then turned back. "But I honestly and truly wouldn't mind leaving you like this a bit longer."

Holmes shook his strangely slender, feminine hips, making Watson laugh once more. He smiled. He liked making Watson laugh.

--------

"You're in for a real treat," Edward said as they sat down to dinner. "Wilfred makes the best vegetable soup."

"And bread," Jasper added, taking a piece from the large loaf in the center of the table. Edward slapped his hand, giving him a look.

"Aw, you're making me blush!" Wilfred brought a large pot to the table. "Talking about my soup like it's being served to the queen." He looked between the detective and doctor. "My grandmother's recipe."

"Ah." Watson nodded polietly. Holmes said nothing.

Wilfred began to serve everyone, and after he sat, they began to eat. Watson took a suspicious sip of soup, and drew his face back from the spoon. Wilfred watched him.

"How is it?" He asked, taking a spoonful of his own soup.

"It's good," Watson said, trying to sound neutral. He still didn't trust the man.

"Sherlock?" Edward turned to the other guest.

Holmes had the bowl so close to his mouth as he gorged that his face was barely visible. He nodded, not even removing the dish to reply. The others laughed, even Orson.

"It's so nice to have you two back," Edward said, sighing contently. His smile fell, just a little. Jasper took notice and reached over to rub his shoulder.

"If I'd known that Ethan James," Wilfred said, shaking his spoon. "I'd given him a piece of my mind."

"We never suspected him," Edward said quietly. "And he loved Richard so fiercely."

"Can we not talk about him while we're eating?" Jasper dropped his spoon in his bowl and scooted his chair back. "I mean, all I can say is I hope he rots in Hell."

"Jasper!" Edward's eyes widened.

"He murdered my best friend," Jasper said. "He deceived us all. He tried to kill me!" He gestured to Holmes and Watson. "He tried to kill them!"

"Oh, how I'd loved to tear him to smithereens!" Wilfred boomed, slicing away at his bread loaf with crazy eyes. He was also pouring sweat.

"I hate him!" Jasper stood up and kicked his chair, knocking it over. "He ruined our lives, and we can never go back!"

"NEVER!" Wilfred bellowed, raising his fist and shaking it.

Watson and Holmes sat frozen in place like squirrels, watching silently. Jasper took a few deep breaths and wiped at the back of his eyes. "Excuse me," he said, leaving the room.

Nobody said anything for a moment, and Wilfred broke the silence with the clinking of his spoon against his bowl. "For dessert," he said, slurping. "I made cherry tart."

------

Holmes and Watson were preparing for bed when rapping sounded at their bedroom door. Watson opened it. Edward waved a sheet of paper in his face.

"Another letter?" Watson took it from him.

Holmes jumped out of bed and raced out the door, flinging himself over the banister rail. They heard him tear open the front door and run outside.

"Holmes..." Watson muttered, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Read it," Edward coaxed.

Watson opened the letter.

_Your new pets can't save you, Orson. I'm going to get you. I'm going to bathe your friends in your blood, or perhaps I shall bathe you in their blood...._

Montgomery

"He's watching the house," Watson muttered. He ran his index finger down the paper. The ink smeared. He looked at Edward. "Either that or he's _in_ the house."

To Be Continued....


End file.
